He thinks he is a god. He thinks he is utouchable. He thinks he will wear me down so he can get what he wants. He is wrong. On all counts.
Nine months have passed since I left him. I have found my joy. I have found happiness in life. I am free.
I am broke. Six months after the courts demanded he pay maintenance, and I hace yet to recieve anything from him other than a gard time. Gis actions are criminal and the list of charges is long. He has been placed under a warrent of arrest for failure to appear, but hides from the police like the pastizz that he is. He will pay, or he will go to jail.
Hes done his level best to threaten and intimidate me and those around me. He goes out of his way, spending hundreds of euros, to harrass me. Hes tried to prevent me from earning money any way he can. Now, he has begun stealing things from me. My glass torch and the kiln are gone from rhe studio.
Yesterday I took the last of my HRT, and today there is no money to buy more. Menopause, here I come. He lives in a 5 bedroom farmhouse with a pool.
This must end.
I have been told that I should let my needs be known to God, the universe, or whomever it is that hears our prayers. I have done that. I am doing that. Im asking you to share this post to help me get my point made to the power/s that can make a difference.
This must end.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Without.
His name is David Pollina. He was born David Anthony Pollino on September 29th, 1966 in Oceanside, New York. Nowadays, you can find him online under several different pseudonyms. On Facebook, he is Webkoor CEO. On the plethera of dating and hookup sites he frequents, he is marco_polo_malta. On ooVoo, you'll find him once as Webkoor CEO, and once as Pointsys CEO. He calls himself a Rav. Pollina, but he's never been ordained as a rabbi. Here, in Malta, he boldly refers to himself as Dr. David Pollina, altho he isn't a doctor of medicine, science or law. He's not a doctor of any kind. In fact, he's never even graduated college. He has no university degrees of any kind. He is a nobody who wishes he were a somebody. He pretends it to be true.
I was married to him for nearly 22 years, and spent so much of that time making excuses for his arrogance, ignorance and deceit. But certainly no longer.
It's funny what people will admit to you after the shit has hit the fan, so to speak. After I left him, there was a parade of friends and business associates who came to tell me things like, "I never liked him.", and "The only reason we agreed to work together was because of you, not him." It really is a shame that these people never had the courage to say what they really felt when it could have mattered. Just like it is the greatest shame, all those people who knew, or strongly suspected that he was cheating on me never spoke up. Both of these senarios could have saved me time, risk to my own health, and of course, money. I lost most of my inheritance because of him. Invested in a bed and breakfast start up with him. 7000 euros lost. Now I have no money and spend each day on the edge. Struggling to pay the rent. To eat.
It's not a joke - not funny at all, to have spent what would have been my 22nd wedding anniversary with nothing but a can of garbanzo beans and some water chestnuts. Especially when he and TDR are often seen dining and drinking out. In fact, just the previous night. This pig, this piece of human garbage thinks, now that he has virtually kidnapped my son from me, that he can ignore the courts, refuse to pay me maintenance, and expects I should pay HIM for child support! There are not words in the English language to describe the depth of my anger. He has stolen my life from me. He has stolen my inheritance from me. He has stolen my very son from me.
I hate him.
I hate him.
I hate him.
So far, I have no justice. The courts are slow, the system ill-effective. My patience is gone. I'm no longer comfortable even being with the people I once considered friends. Every small thing irritates me. I have no patience with anyone, actually. I spend all my free time by myself.
I am abandoned and alone, and I wait for justice. Justice, not revenge. Justice, because I have been wronged. I am in the right, but it is me who suffers. It is me who now goes without. Without meals, without a car. Without an income, without family. Without a safety, without love. Without a home. Where is the justice?
I was married to him for nearly 22 years, and spent so much of that time making excuses for his arrogance, ignorance and deceit. But certainly no longer.
It's funny what people will admit to you after the shit has hit the fan, so to speak. After I left him, there was a parade of friends and business associates who came to tell me things like, "I never liked him.", and "The only reason we agreed to work together was because of you, not him." It really is a shame that these people never had the courage to say what they really felt when it could have mattered. Just like it is the greatest shame, all those people who knew, or strongly suspected that he was cheating on me never spoke up. Both of these senarios could have saved me time, risk to my own health, and of course, money. I lost most of my inheritance because of him. Invested in a bed and breakfast start up with him. 7000 euros lost. Now I have no money and spend each day on the edge. Struggling to pay the rent. To eat.
It's not a joke - not funny at all, to have spent what would have been my 22nd wedding anniversary with nothing but a can of garbanzo beans and some water chestnuts. Especially when he and TDR are often seen dining and drinking out. In fact, just the previous night. This pig, this piece of human garbage thinks, now that he has virtually kidnapped my son from me, that he can ignore the courts, refuse to pay me maintenance, and expects I should pay HIM for child support! There are not words in the English language to describe the depth of my anger. He has stolen my life from me. He has stolen my inheritance from me. He has stolen my very son from me.
I hate him.
I hate him.
I hate him.
So far, I have no justice. The courts are slow, the system ill-effective. My patience is gone. I'm no longer comfortable even being with the people I once considered friends. Every small thing irritates me. I have no patience with anyone, actually. I spend all my free time by myself.
I am abandoned and alone, and I wait for justice. Justice, not revenge. Justice, because I have been wronged. I am in the right, but it is me who suffers. It is me who now goes without. Without meals, without a car. Without an income, without family. Without a safety, without love. Without a home. Where is the justice?
Sunday, June 22, 2014
The Bondage Bed
Oh, you know from the title that this is going to be a good one.
Sometime ago, very shortly after the initial discovery, my daughter in law discovered the ManPig's profile on a hook-up type dating site. "Just looking for great and casual sex." Whoa, and I mean whoa. How do you process that kind of information when you see it there on your computer screen? It got worse when I thought to input his screen name into Google. The sites just kept popping up over and over. If you have a strong stomach, (or proclivities towards such things) type, marco_polo_malta into your search engine. After you have seen a few of his posts, ask yourself if this sounds like a guy with a wife and couple of kids, running a small business. Or does it sound like a lying cheater whose so full of himself he will never know right from wrong?
After some time of tracking and saving screenshots of his various activities online, I decided to create a fake profile of my own. Just 3 or 4 lines of text. No photos of any kind. Chum in the water. Well, it didn't take long before that particular fish came sniffing around. He sent 'her' several messages looking to connect. 'She' wrote back. Take the bait. He followed suit. Set the hook. Reel him in. He wrote about his sexual prowess, and that of his bi-sexual 'partner'. He/they were looking for another woman to join them in bed. (Something he had wanted me to do when I discovered the affair, but rejected outright.) I was building information for the eventual court case against him.
Until the bondage bed.
That's what I call it. He sent photographs to 'her' showing black leather, studded straps which had been fastened or bolted to the bed. My bed. The bed he had bought me as a surprise one year while I was away visiting my father before he died. My pretty white bed is plainly visible in the picture. He goes on to explain to 'her' how the straps were used and that they "gave a great feel", and are adjustable for the height of the person being restrained.
I was almost physically sick. It was just too much. Who is this person to whom I've given the last 22 years of my life? All of a sudden I felt as if I had been married to a stranger for two decades. But just like all the rest of the information I had gathered I had to just file it away and try to not let it bother me. I didn't want to dig any deeper. I was hoping I had enough information for the lawyer to use in court. And then he did something stupid. (I know what you're thinking- how does it get any more stupid?)
In the course of fighting my application for maintenance for myself and my son, he stipulated to the affairs in a declaration to the court. In writing. Game, set, match. Nothing left to prove. No more need of the fake profile I'd created and all the information I'd accumulated. And so today, while speaking to him in a very rare phone call, I got so mad I told him that 'she' was me. And he laughed. Just laughed right at me. He said he knew it was me, and that he was just playing me. True or not, I really don't know. Certainly he could not have known for very long, if at all, else why send the photographs of the bed?
Is he deranged? Some kind of psychopath? Just a mean, sick bastard?
Or once again, just a liar. About my bed.
Sometime ago, very shortly after the initial discovery, my daughter in law discovered the ManPig's profile on a hook-up type dating site. "Just looking for great and casual sex." Whoa, and I mean whoa. How do you process that kind of information when you see it there on your computer screen? It got worse when I thought to input his screen name into Google. The sites just kept popping up over and over. If you have a strong stomach, (or proclivities towards such things) type, marco_polo_malta into your search engine. After you have seen a few of his posts, ask yourself if this sounds like a guy with a wife and couple of kids, running a small business. Or does it sound like a lying cheater whose so full of himself he will never know right from wrong?
After some time of tracking and saving screenshots of his various activities online, I decided to create a fake profile of my own. Just 3 or 4 lines of text. No photos of any kind. Chum in the water. Well, it didn't take long before that particular fish came sniffing around. He sent 'her' several messages looking to connect. 'She' wrote back. Take the bait. He followed suit. Set the hook. Reel him in. He wrote about his sexual prowess, and that of his bi-sexual 'partner'. He/they were looking for another woman to join them in bed. (Something he had wanted me to do when I discovered the affair, but rejected outright.) I was building information for the eventual court case against him.
Until the bondage bed.
That's what I call it. He sent photographs to 'her' showing black leather, studded straps which had been fastened or bolted to the bed. My bed. The bed he had bought me as a surprise one year while I was away visiting my father before he died. My pretty white bed is plainly visible in the picture. He goes on to explain to 'her' how the straps were used and that they "gave a great feel", and are adjustable for the height of the person being restrained.
I was almost physically sick. It was just too much. Who is this person to whom I've given the last 22 years of my life? All of a sudden I felt as if I had been married to a stranger for two decades. But just like all the rest of the information I had gathered I had to just file it away and try to not let it bother me. I didn't want to dig any deeper. I was hoping I had enough information for the lawyer to use in court. And then he did something stupid. (I know what you're thinking- how does it get any more stupid?)
In the course of fighting my application for maintenance for myself and my son, he stipulated to the affairs in a declaration to the court. In writing. Game, set, match. Nothing left to prove. No more need of the fake profile I'd created and all the information I'd accumulated. And so today, while speaking to him in a very rare phone call, I got so mad I told him that 'she' was me. And he laughed. Just laughed right at me. He said he knew it was me, and that he was just playing me. True or not, I really don't know. Certainly he could not have known for very long, if at all, else why send the photographs of the bed?
Is he deranged? Some kind of psychopath? Just a mean, sick bastard?
Or once again, just a liar. About my bed.
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Terms of Endearment.
I honestly wish he was dead. Truly. From the bottom of my heart. It would have been so much easier to deal with than the relentless loads of rubbish he continues to shovel my way.
Here are just some of he texts off my phone. Both before I changed my number and after he stole the new number from my son's phone. And just in case you may have forgotten, MP is the ManPig, and TDR is The Dirty Rag.
"Return the van or I'll file a report for theft...."
"Meet with us. (him and his tart) Talk. What is so hard about that. Come back home and talk."
"Come back home." (The home he moved his mistress into while I was visiting a friend.)
"What happened to bring us here? ..... Want to come home for a coffee and breakfast??" (with him and the tart)
"...Get over your jealousy already and move back in." (with him and TDR)
"I'm coming down there and you can return them (paperwork) to me or I'll file with the police."
"I'm going to the police to file charges for theft unless you return my files."
"I didn't call you because I didn't know what to do you moron...."
"I'm taking him (our son) to the psych ward."
"Piss off."
"What I have done????WHO left???? Fuck off."
"He needs help. Chasing him is counterproductive." (After not going to find the runaway son he had just yanked out of the 72 hour hold he himself had put the boy into. Why? Because the Dr. wouldn't allow TDR visitation priviledges.)
"Fuck you...."
"***** (my name) you need to relax, get laid, and start enjoying your life which is ALL yours now."
"Fuck off you horrible bitch....."
"Go get yourself laid,..."
"You're delusional."
"You're mentally unstable."
"Go get laid."
"***** (TDR) has nice large tits and ***** (our son) surprised us up on the bedroom balcony. Got a problem with nature??? Lolol" (Aparently this was funny.)
"Pleeeeeeease go get laid so you can be a human being again."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck off."
"If you speak to ***** (the landlord) or file any complaint I'll charge you with criminal libel."
"Fuck off. You don'tmake the rules."
"None of your business. Fuck off and stop harassing me."
"Insulting??? Yeah right. Fuck off."
"Fuck off."
"Please stop being such a horrible bitch. Please have dinner with ***** (TDR) and I."
"Fuck off."
"Fuck you."
"Fred is dead." (my cat. and no, he wasn't)
"...you horrible bitch."
"Fuck off. There's nothing to give you. neither myself nor my lawyer believe your BS." (after I informed him that the magistrate had decreed he pay maintenance. I'm sure he's trying to avoid being served.)
It seems the MP has a new found fondness for the F-word. Both in word and deed.
I posted all these lovely sentiments today because my dear D.I.L.has downloaded a "Block SMS" app onto my phone and now I never have to hear from him again. Why couldn't I have found such a thing sooner?!
Here are just some of he texts off my phone. Both before I changed my number and after he stole the new number from my son's phone. And just in case you may have forgotten, MP is the ManPig, and TDR is The Dirty Rag.
"Return the van or I'll file a report for theft...."
"Meet with us. (him and his tart) Talk. What is so hard about that. Come back home and talk."
"Come back home." (The home he moved his mistress into while I was visiting a friend.)
"What happened to bring us here? ..... Want to come home for a coffee and breakfast??" (with him and the tart)
"...Get over your jealousy already and move back in." (with him and TDR)
"I'm coming down there and you can return them (paperwork) to me or I'll file with the police."
"I'm going to the police to file charges for theft unless you return my files."
"I didn't call you because I didn't know what to do you moron...."
"I'm taking him (our son) to the psych ward."
"Piss off."
"What I have done????WHO left???? Fuck off."
"He needs help. Chasing him is counterproductive." (After not going to find the runaway son he had just yanked out of the 72 hour hold he himself had put the boy into. Why? Because the Dr. wouldn't allow TDR visitation priviledges.)
"Fuck you...."
"***** (my name) you need to relax, get laid, and start enjoying your life which is ALL yours now."
"Fuck off you horrible bitch....."
"Go get yourself laid,..."
"You're delusional."
"You're mentally unstable."
"Go get laid."
"***** (TDR) has nice large tits and ***** (our son) surprised us up on the bedroom balcony. Got a problem with nature??? Lolol" (Aparently this was funny.)
"Pleeeeeeease go get laid so you can be a human being again."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck off."
"If you speak to ***** (the landlord) or file any complaint I'll charge you with criminal libel."
"Fuck off. You don'tmake the rules."
"None of your business. Fuck off and stop harassing me."
"Insulting??? Yeah right. Fuck off."
"Fuck off."
"Please stop being such a horrible bitch. Please have dinner with ***** (TDR) and I."
"Fuck off."
"Fuck you."
"Fred is dead." (my cat. and no, he wasn't)
"...you horrible bitch."
"Fuck off. There's nothing to give you. neither myself nor my lawyer believe your BS." (after I informed him that the magistrate had decreed he pay maintenance. I'm sure he's trying to avoid being served.)
It seems the MP has a new found fondness for the F-word. Both in word and deed.
I posted all these lovely sentiments today because my dear D.I.L.has downloaded a "Block SMS" app onto my phone and now I never have to hear from him again. Why couldn't I have found such a thing sooner?!
Sunday, April 13, 2014
What Lies Beneath
Finding the truth underneath a multi faceted, long term ugly lie is like getting at the centre of an onion by peeling off the layers one at a time. With cuts on your bare hands. After the first few painful layers; fingers red and burning with pain, your eyes weeping, you really already know how much each subsequent layer will hurt. But if you really want the centre of that onion in one piece, you must keep peeling, no matter how excruciating.
Such was the case when I began to peel back the burning layers of deceit my husband had been using to hide his other life. The life where he sought and found casual sex outside the boundaries of our marriage. Each time I found another layer of painful lies, the burning in my soul sought to blind me with rage. I wanted so badly to know all the truth, but each layer of that onion was just eating me from the inside out.
I tried to save our marriage. I went to lengths I had previously thought unimaginable. Engaging in an intimate relationship with him even after learning the truth, was something I had always thought (and even said) I would never do. But with twenty-two years of life and family hanging in the balance, I thought it a small price to pay to save what I thought was worth fighting for. I was wrong. When, a mere twelve hours after leaving a relationship counsellors office, he was once again in bed with his lover, I realised our marriage was over. I say, 'I realised', because clearly it had been over for a while - he just neglected to tell me.
When I could no longer believe that any effort on my part could convince him to give up these other women, I packed a changed of clothes in a bag and headed to the home of a friend for a few days. Those days were filled with tears. Tears of pain and heartbreak, tears of burning rage. Onion tears.
Little did I know in those first couple of days, that what was coming would make everything so much worse.
Peel off a layer of that onion, and find a rotted one underneath.
Three days into my well earned Cry Vacation, the ManPig (as I have now been known to call him), moved his lover into our home. Forget the human/porcine creature responsible for shattering my existence, what kind of woman would do this to another person?! Henceforth, she is to be known as The Dirty Rag. It seems wholly appropriate, and I can think of nothing worse.
He not only makes no apologies for his actions, he flaunts his relationship with this person all over town. Sitting in restaurants. Drinks in the pub. This is not a man. His grown sons are furious with him. His daughter-in-law refuses to allow him to see his grandchild. He has made himself persona non grata. And the worse part is,...he doesn't see it at all. Until someone outside the family gets right in his face and confronts him, he will never clearly see what he has done. Perhaps a few someones.
There are more layers to this stinking onion. Many many more. I have uncovered a lot of them, but I daresay it's probably like the tip of an iceberg. Sometimes you just need to put that onion down, and let a friend sweep the pieces into the bin. It's time to stop peeling the onion. This one most likely has no end.
Such was the case when I began to peel back the burning layers of deceit my husband had been using to hide his other life. The life where he sought and found casual sex outside the boundaries of our marriage. Each time I found another layer of painful lies, the burning in my soul sought to blind me with rage. I wanted so badly to know all the truth, but each layer of that onion was just eating me from the inside out.
I tried to save our marriage. I went to lengths I had previously thought unimaginable. Engaging in an intimate relationship with him even after learning the truth, was something I had always thought (and even said) I would never do. But with twenty-two years of life and family hanging in the balance, I thought it a small price to pay to save what I thought was worth fighting for. I was wrong. When, a mere twelve hours after leaving a relationship counsellors office, he was once again in bed with his lover, I realised our marriage was over. I say, 'I realised', because clearly it had been over for a while - he just neglected to tell me.
When I could no longer believe that any effort on my part could convince him to give up these other women, I packed a changed of clothes in a bag and headed to the home of a friend for a few days. Those days were filled with tears. Tears of pain and heartbreak, tears of burning rage. Onion tears.
Little did I know in those first couple of days, that what was coming would make everything so much worse.
Peel off a layer of that onion, and find a rotted one underneath.
Three days into my well earned Cry Vacation, the ManPig (as I have now been known to call him), moved his lover into our home. Forget the human/porcine creature responsible for shattering my existence, what kind of woman would do this to another person?! Henceforth, she is to be known as The Dirty Rag. It seems wholly appropriate, and I can think of nothing worse.
He not only makes no apologies for his actions, he flaunts his relationship with this person all over town. Sitting in restaurants. Drinks in the pub. This is not a man. His grown sons are furious with him. His daughter-in-law refuses to allow him to see his grandchild. He has made himself persona non grata. And the worse part is,...he doesn't see it at all. Until someone outside the family gets right in his face and confronts him, he will never clearly see what he has done. Perhaps a few someones.
There are more layers to this stinking onion. Many many more. I have uncovered a lot of them, but I daresay it's probably like the tip of an iceberg. Sometimes you just need to put that onion down, and let a friend sweep the pieces into the bin. It's time to stop peeling the onion. This one most likely has no end.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Pulling Back The Covers
There was a liar in my bed.
A really good liar. And he's been there for a long time. He's my husband.
For many years, I thought I knew when he was lying. The corners of his mouth would twitch slightly when he lied or omitted something. He was trying to keep his mouth straight so as not to smile or make other motions to give him away. In doing so, he'd contort his mouth in such an unnatural way that this in itself, was his 'tell'.
I never thought of myself a naïve woman, but boy do I feel like an idiot now. Because, a little more than a month and a half ago, I discovered my husband has been cheating on me.
It's like stripping the bed linens. Peeling off layer upon layer of deceit and lies. It's like I'm a chambermaid in a hotel, and he is the dirty guest that left the room a mess. Be careful with the bed covers - you don't know what's underneath. Better work with a friend. There's strength in numbers. Call the manager if the mess is too much to handle.
He's with another woman! (Pull off the quilt.)
She isn't his first. (Yank down the blanket.)
He admits to three! (Remove the topsheet.)
Do I want to continue? Do I want to carry on removing the fitted sheet, and mattress cover? Shall I yank off the pillow cases? Who knows what else I will find?
A really good liar. And he's been there for a long time. He's my husband.
For many years, I thought I knew when he was lying. The corners of his mouth would twitch slightly when he lied or omitted something. He was trying to keep his mouth straight so as not to smile or make other motions to give him away. In doing so, he'd contort his mouth in such an unnatural way that this in itself, was his 'tell'.
I never thought of myself a naïve woman, but boy do I feel like an idiot now. Because, a little more than a month and a half ago, I discovered my husband has been cheating on me.
It's like stripping the bed linens. Peeling off layer upon layer of deceit and lies. It's like I'm a chambermaid in a hotel, and he is the dirty guest that left the room a mess. Be careful with the bed covers - you don't know what's underneath. Better work with a friend. There's strength in numbers. Call the manager if the mess is too much to handle.
He's with another woman! (Pull off the quilt.)
She isn't his first. (Yank down the blanket.)
He admits to three! (Remove the topsheet.)
Do I want to continue? Do I want to carry on removing the fitted sheet, and mattress cover? Shall I yank off the pillow cases? Who knows what else I will find?
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